


Benefits of the Turkish Bath

by tweedisgood



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Holmes POV, M/M, Turkish Baths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-04
Updated: 2010-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tweedisgood/pseuds/tweedisgood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three linked drabbles on a common theme</p>
            </blockquote>





	Benefits of the Turkish Bath

_Both Holmes and I had a weakness for the Turkish bath. It was over a smoke in the pleasant lassitude of the drying-room that I have found him less reticent and more human than anywhere else._ 'The Illustrious Client'

 

 

1\. Dry Heat

Watson asks me if I know that gentleman over there. The one who has been staring at me for a quarter of an hour (ah, Watson, at least twenty minutes, I fancy). No, I reply, I do not: neither does he know me, though it is apparent that he would like to. Watson stiffens in outrage, though not for my honour. He glares at the intruder, a growl in his throat. I smile, rise, adjust the towel a little around my hips, and move towards the hot room. I do not look behind me to see if he is following.

 

2\. Sweat

The human body requires sweating: the human heart, mind and soul, no less. Exertion is essential: vigorous, heart-pounding, perspiring exertion followed by the blessed coolness of fresh linens and an open window. Sweating signals readiness, the urgency of desire, confession.  
Above all, sweating is aesthetic. Oh, yes. Transport me (transport, indeed!) a mile or so north west of here and I will commence to enjoy the sight of a single, ripe bead of moisture rolling down my Watson's perfect spine, and the taste of it as I lick it carefully and slowly from the swelling curve of his right buttock.

 

3\. Plunge

At the edge of the pool, an instant before the plunge, one always stops. This is the ultimate moment: fever heat will give way before the sheet of frigid water, the shock anticipated but ever new. It is the tiny eye-blink of waiting that tinctures it with something holy, something fearful.  
The moment before sexual climax is like it: body and spirit both, straining, burning, heavy, tight with longing and despair at its ending, full to bursting with heat and unspent seed and the urge to give and never hold back.

Then the gasping, falling, fearful plunge into relief.

Aaah.


End file.
